


Handling it professionally

by MedeaV



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: A lot of Complaining, And of course confessions, Angst, Awkward Sexual Situations, Explicit Consent, Explicit Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Less awkward sexual situations, Natasha doesn't remember, POV Bucky Barnes, Post-Black Widow Hunt, This turns from weirdly funny to awkward to smutty to sad, fuck or die trope
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27710446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MedeaV/pseuds/MedeaV
Summary: "So. You're the lucky guy, eh."His head hurts. He sits up regardless. Romanoff is sitting over there, leaned against a wall, hair slightly tousled and red tinge to her cheek but otherwise as put-together as always. He groans, unable to focus his gaze appropriately. "Where are we?""Test facility," her voice replies. "The Hand. The gas. Remember?"He doesn't but makes the mistake of shaking his head, wincing. Something definitely hit him over the head. Feels like he has more than one bump."The fuck-or-die gas," she explains. "Aptly named. Diphosphoratemethanemeta- Ah, who the fuck cares."
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 15
Kudos: 29





	Handling it professionally

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissMorwen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissMorwen/gifts).



"So. You're the lucky guy, eh."

His head hurts distinctly unlucky. Ship's horn right in his ear. Hit over the head with a baseball bat. Fell down fifteen floors head-first. He forces his eyes open, headache coming down with a hammer. Why is it  _ bright. _ Not one to quit or know healthy boundaries, he doesn't close them, staring and staring, eyes tearing up, head getting smashed into and out of shape. He finally allows himself to blink, wiping some of the swimming tears away.

His head hurts. He sits up regardless. Romanoff is sitting over there, leaned against a wall, hair slightly tousled and red tinge to her cheek but otherwise as put-together as always. He groans, unable to focus his gaze appropriately. "Where are we?"

"Test facility," her voice replies. "The Hand. The gas. Remember?"

He doesn't but makes the mistake of shaking his head, wincing. Something definitely hit him over the head. Feels like he has more than one bump.

"The fuck-or-die gas," she explains. "Aptly named. Diphosphoratemethanemeta- Ah, who the fuck cares."

He instantly remembers that this was the  _ worst  _ day of his life and he's seen some shit. Well, okay, that's an overstatement but it was really bad. "Remind me?"

"We were gonna sneak in," she starts. "Destroy the stuff. Got spotted, captured, bunch of fights, the tank somehow exploded, bunch of people we don't care about died in the explosion, you got knocked over the head, gas spread, I dragged you in here and barricaded the door and now we're here. That's pretty much it, my memory is not at its best."

"We breathed it in?" he asks, horrified.

"Whole bunch," she confirms. "Yeah, everyone outside already wasted away. Guess it's our good metabolism."

Hence the worst day of his life. He groans, lying down again. It's not really getting better. He remembers her saying  _ Who the hell is Bucky _ and wow, that was so much worse. "Could've been worse," she remarks somewhere. "I mean, the younger guys were almost fighting over who'd get to go on that mission with me. In case something went wrong."

Oh, he remembers  _ that.  _ Fucking creeps. "We're not doing  _ that _ ."

"So you'd rather die," she states.

He realizes it's not a rhetorical question but an actual one. Dear fucking Lord. This is steadily climbing up the worst-day rankings. "I don't know what you're up to, privately," she adds when he doesn't reply. "Maybe you'd rather die than cheat. Or you're more into guys. Or nobody at all."

He sighs. Like he has been up to anything, since she doesn't know anymore. "No."

"To all of that?" she questions. "Huh. Well, the handbook has a five-step guide for such cases."

"Are you kidding?" He sits up again. "It's in the  _ handbook _ ?"

"You never even read it, did you," she accuses, and boy is she right about that. "First step, assess alternatives while your head is still relatively clear. Failing that, second step, establish basic consent. Third step, determine procedures and boundaries, keep it simple. Fourth step, establish specific consent. Fifth step, execute."

This is the least sexy shit he's ever heard. That fucking handbook. "Don't jump ahead. Alternatives."

She shrugs. "Already did that, while you were out. Masturbation doesn't work. Though maybe it's different for you, I don't know, try it. The gas is slow to vanish so we'd choke the moment we step outside. Our gas masks are at the other end of the facility. One door, no other exit, no helpful objects in this room."

He considers for a second whether masturbating in front of her might be less bad- but he can't even masturbate without thinking about her, and it wouldn't do shit for her. This would have been so fucking easy only a few months ago, before she-

Forgot all about him and their relationship. Yeah.

"There has to be another way," he insists, studying the bare concrete walls. The door is hermetically sealed. This is an emergency bunker, probably exactly for the case the gas breaks free, and there is literally  _ nothing  _ in here, not even a chair or a single can. "How to deal with the gas."

"SHIELD scientists never got to study it," she admits, grasping her knees. "Suggested alternatives were losing a massive amount of blood, we have nothing to stop the bleeding, an electric shock through a defibrillator, which we don't have, or an induced coma. I don't know about you, but simply fucking would definitely be my least worst option out of those."

Least worst. Fucking great. He can't even look at her. How could he, when she doesn't even  _ remember _ \- "This can't be it."

"Denial is not part of the process. Only wastes time."

Smartass. What did he think he was doing, going on that mission with her when he already knew- just so it wouldn't be one of the others, like he ever had to  _ protect  _ her, ever got to be  _ jealous _ \- He fucked up so bad that's all off the table. "I don't wanna do that to you."

"I don't wanna do that to you either," she replies. "So we're on even keel, if that's what you're worried about. And come on, we're both professionals, we've done way worse. I'm sure we can handle it professionally."

Except he can't, and they're not even, because he still loves her and wants her and now he'd be indulging all of that, he might even  _ like  _ it and that's like taking advantage of her, when she doesn't even know. Either he has to tell her right now or he should just die in- Oh God, she's unzipping her suit. "Thing is, we gotta jump together. If one of us refuses, we both die."

"Not putting pressure on each other wasn't in the handbook?" he remarks drily.

"Can't change the facts." She unties her hair. "Though it did say to leave any consideration of consequences and the outside world out of it. So whatever issue you seem to have with me, leave that out of it."

As if it were that easy when it's right in here, between them. "And make it quick," she adds. "Already can't feel my fingers anymore."

So he can either rape- no, take advantage of, betray her, or sentence her to death. Remind him why he went on that mission again? If he starts telling her now- no, it's too late. Boy, his head. "Does your head also hurt like a bitch?"

"Nah, that must be because you got hit with a beam or something," she replies. "Though my- you know, my vagina really burns. And I'm very wet, so it won't hurt."

Dear Lord. He pads down to his crotch with his right and- boy,  _ that  _ burns. Why couldn't this have happened a few months ago, when they would have happily screwed each other's brains out until any chemical is gone from their bodies, and then some more- but no point in commiserating, he already does that enough. Eyes closed, brace yourself, get it over with. "Fine."

"Great. Third step, determine procedures and boundaries. I mean, given your attitude, you probably won't anyway but just remember what this is. Don't go overboard."

"Don't kiss me," he says, thinking about the worst thing that could happen.

He hears her grin. "Did you watch Pretty Woman?"

"Awful," he mutters, fighting to get upright. "So how- where?"

He doesn't want to think about what he wants or he'll indulge again like the horrible person he is. Her gaze wanders around the empty room, green sports bra peeking out between the open zipper. He used to hate those things because they're so damn hard to get off. "Mhm. Wall, I think."

He needs to test whether he can even stand first. With that head on his shoulders… She's already up, stripping out of the catsuit, kicking her boots off. "You can keep yours on. Just, this will get in the way."

Boy, does he remember that. Plunging his fingers down to rub her clit, getting them inside of her was hard with the tight suit. The breasts, though- oh, shut up. He pushes up at once, vision blacking out momentarily. Hears the other shoe drop, literally. Why is everything the worst these days?

"I don't think you have a concussion," she offers. "If that helps. Let's check later."

She's so coherent and he has  _ such  _ a boner. It's probably the blood gathering down below, at least part of it, why he's so dizzy. He takes a step towards the wall, pressing both hands against it. She slips in between, in her underwear. "You alright?"

He nods half-heartedly, steadying himself with the reliable left arm while reaching down but his right shakes like a rattlesnake, hard to even grasp the- she puts her hand over his, gently. "Maybe I should do that."

Boy, does he want to get out of these pants. He's so used to everything hurting, and his head, but now he really feels it. He nods briefly, closing his eyes, breathing her in. Hasn't in a long while. She smells differently, apart from the- he could swear she has a new shampoo. She pops the button on his pants and drags the zipper down and then shimmies them down to his thighs or knees, can't tell exactly, but no farther. Her hand rests on his awful erection. "You really okay with this?"

Awfully so. Her hand feels exactly the same and he has to bite his lip not to mewl. "Mhm. Just get it over with."

She pulls her panties to the side with one hand, strong smell escaping, she must be soaked, using the other to guide him into her. Their relative heights always worked rather well for that. He doesn't even feel it until he's halfway inside of her and  _ God _ , she's wet like she's probably never been, not the least bit of resistance. He might even have enjoyed that, a few months ago, but now it's just pathetic. Maybe he never did right by her, maybe she could have had so much more fun, he never knew she could be so  _ wet _ -

Her hand drops away and he glides home the rest of the way, no resistance, and then they're leaning against each other, against the wall, just breathing deeply. Her hands come to his hips, his ass, like she's pulling him- but then she pulls them back like she overstepped, and he almost tells her- He sighs, head dropping against the wall to her right. It's all fucking pointless.

She starts rocking her hips against him tentatively and it feels legitimately great until he remembers why she's doing it, because she'll die otherwise and that's the only reason she'd ever sleep with him and she doesn't fucking remember. It's all empty inside. Like drinking salt water. Taking more than it gives. He groans, pushing into her, so wet it feels more like she's trying to flood him out.

"More," she whispers, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. "I'll steady you."

She probably doesn't even really feel it, with how wet she is. Better than if it was hurting but- Normally, he'd try a different position where she's tighter, thighs pressed together, maybe from behind, just to get more friction- he grabs one of her legs and pulls it around his waist, at least sinking deeper. She's staring up at the ceiling. He chuckles darkly, hating himself. "Horrible or boring?"

"It's alright," she replies, sounding distant. "Just trying to feel a difference- I think you need to go harder."

His hips slam forward on their own account. Still so little friction. He grabs her hips and angles them automatically, until he realizes he's touching her ass. "Uh."

She grins, still towards the ceiling. "That's okay. Just harder."

He's not really up for that right now but thrusts into her as good as he can, holding her hips in place against it. Mentally, he's going through the list of all the worst things he's ever done and trying to find an appropriate place for this mess.

It feels like forever until she tilts her head down, and he's just continually thrusting into her at medium speed and she's doing nothing but breathing. "Uh, I don't know if you- but it might be helpful for both of us if you could make it quick."

Boy, does he wish he could, but this is so awkward and she's so wet- He grits his teeth. "Can't."

"Oh." She seems to deflate. He never wanted to do this to her. "Okay. Take your time, then."

The worst thing is, it might actually be working, at least for him. Or maybe that's just his headache receding. He tries knocking into her harder. She breathes sharply. "Hurts?"

"No, just- literally knocking the wind out of me." She shakes her head, eyes glassy and unfocused. Oh, if he loses her because he can't get his fucking act together and come- he already lost her. "That's good. Keep going."

He used to be able to make her come within a minute, two minutes. But if she's not into any of this, just enduring- like he is. He slams into her, fingers digging in, her breath goes fast and she's scratching over his shoulder through the jacket, it's almost as if- except it obviously isn't, and he can't lie to himself.

It's excruciatingly long. She doesn't say another word. He finally works up enough of a rhythm, enough friction to get from that awful erection to ejaculation, and sweat breaks out all over his body and he collapses forward and she catches him.

It actually feels better afterwards, his head, the burning, his general circulation, but boy, doesn't he feel way worse. She cradles his head kindly on her shoulder, holding him up, not moving away. He catches his breath, dropping any self-esteem he might still have had.

"Better?" she whispers, stroking his hair.

He nods tentatively. "Yeah, I think so too," she replies. "So that's something."

Then he should get out of her literal body and out of her figurative way. He blanks out for a moment when pushing away from the wall. She helps him sit down, getting her own underwear back into place. Feels like locking her nether regions away from him, once again forever. He pulls his pants up but doesn't bother with zipper or buttons, just lying there and waiting- waiting until they're really done and can get out. Until this nightmare is over.

He notices her fidgeting after a while, he lost track of time long ago. When he turns his head, he notices she has even more of a blush, and she's still in her underwear like she's waiting for something. "Are you okay?"

"I don't feel my hands," she admits.

Shit. Now he did this to her and it didn't even  _ help _ \- this is just another curse, isn't it. Would be great if his dismal karma wouldn't drag her into it every time. "I can still move them, sort of," she says, showing him. "Just don't feel it."

Now he can watch her wither away. Helplessly. She'd be so much better off without him it's not even funny. "Maybe- I think it got better when I came. You didn't, right?"

Of course she didn't. Shakes her head. "But- I can't."

He's so fucking sorry for her, now she has to make herself like it, too, when she clearly didn't want any of this. "Just- rub one out. Maybe that's enough."

She stares at her fingers, clearly trying to move one of them but he can't even tell which one because they're all just shaking. "Probably not. I don't think I even can."

He'd really hoped he could finally get out of her way. "Tell me what you want me to do. Anything, really."

Something in her face shuts off, he sees it clear as day. She's still staring at her fingers. He snorts impatiently to hide how bad it hurts. "Fucking is fine but you'd really rather die than tell me what you're into?"

"I don't know," she whispers. Which is ridiculous, because she is a grown woman, technically almost 90, who wasn't exactly prudish or saving herself for- oh. Unless … "Don't remember. It's…"

"Hazy."

And now he's also ruined sex for her, in the worst possible way. Inconceivable how much better she'd be off if… too late. She shakes her head, shrugging. He sighs deeply. "Just lay down. I'll- I'll try."

She sinks down slowly. "Think I was so wet before- didn't even feel that much. Don't think that works."

"Wasn't gonna do that again if I can avoid it," he replies, settling between her legs. "Do you- trust me?"

She snorts, splaying her shaky hands on her stomach. "Don't exactly have a choice, do I."

He groans. Of course she's right. "Could you just say yes? That would make it easier."

"Yeah," she allows. "If it's about the- just take them off. They're soiled anyway."

They are, wet through and through, not all of that is from her, which- bad enough. He peels them off her carefully, like when she was hurt and he'd help her change- wow, he's gonna cry sooner or later if he doesn't  _ stop.  _ He breathes in deeply, pulling her thighs apart, leaning forward. "I'm gonna lick you if that's okay."

"Thought you were gonna-" She breaks off. "Nevermind. Just make it quick."

He could make her come within less than a minute, before, but now he's just pathetic and if she doesn't even really want to come- not dying, what a shitty motivation for anything, really. He plants her feet down for her. Though maybe he didn't do all that bad, if all the good sex she can't remember was with him- what an awful thing to draw comfort from. He breathes in one last time and buries his face in her pussy.

She shrieks slightly, clearly sensitive, and the beard is probably a bit much, but he had had no reason to shave- Fuck that. He licks her clit gently, smooth underside of his tongue. She's trying to inch away, still too much. Something about this weird-ass gas must make her really sensitive, though apparently not her vagina. He starts licking around and she groans. He latches onto that, circling round and round until she shrieks, hips buckling. He almost continues before he remembers why she let him between her legs, looks up instead. "Better?"

"Not sure," she breathes. "Go on."

Well, he was barely getting started, to be honest. He tries brushing over her clit but it's still too much, circles around incessantly, and when he remembers her vagina wasn't that delicate at all, plunges in two metal digits. Just when he remembers he probably should have asked first. He's barely raised his head when she already hisses "yeah, yeah, go on". Gets the feeling she's not doing well. He licks her tenderly, twisting his fingers not so tenderly. She used to like that, the movement inside of her, used to say it feels like him coming. He closes his lips around her clitoris and crooks the fingers up and she shouts, having a toe-curling orgasm.

She seems more relaxed after that. He watches her as he slips his fingers in and out. "Do you like that?"

Her eyes are closed. "Kinda. Is that- bad?"

"No." He gives her clit a kitten lick, steeling himself. "I like it. And I'd feel bad about it if you didn't."

"Nothing to feel bad about," she breathes. "Really."

He grins widely, momentarily forgetting about everything else. "I'll just continue then. Stop me when it's enough. Or you just wanna stop. Or try something else."

She doesn't stop him, though, not when he crooks his fingers inside her and starts pulling, not when he licks her clit in earnest, not when he fingerfucks her with an obscene amount of squelching, not when he starts nibbling at her clit, not even when his right hand comes up to her tit and he remembers, feeling the bra, what they're actually doing. He looks up. She looks dazed, blissed out, cheeks red in the good way, he thinks. He pulls his fingers out, rubbing them kinda clean with an unsoiled spot of her panties. She sighs, turning her head to the side, away from him. "We… used to do that, didn't we."

Well, too late to deny. And this was- he's done. Just done. "Yes."

"And I just don't remember," she mutters to herself. "Well. I feel a lot better, by the way."

"Glad to hear," he remarks, helping her to sit up. "Hands?"

She looks at her fingers, the ring finger twitches. "Better. You're insanely good at that, by the way. I mean, how often did I come?"

"I don't know," he replies defensively. She didn't like it when he counted. "Twelve."

She grins, rubbing her thumb. "Well, which one now?"

"Twelve," he admits. "Hope that was enough."

"Feels enough." She shakes her head, hair the absolute mess he loves the most. "Man. I hope I was insanely good at sucking your dick or something."

"You weren't really into that," he replies before he can stop himself, oversharing. "You were- well."

"What?" she probes. "Come on."

"Just riding me," he allows. "That was awesome."

"And you didn't suggest we do that?" she remarks.

"Didn't want to get into something where-" He sighs. "Where I enjoy it and you don't. I'd rather not enjoy it either, then."

"Wow, you're an idiot." She folds her arms on top of her knees. "So, this is weird to ask, but… are you getting an erection because of what we're talking about or because of the gas?"

His hand shoots down. This fucking thing. He palms his crotch, through his underwear, and it  _ burns. _ Jesus Christ, he thought he was done with that after he did that awful thing to her against the wall. "I assume it's the latter," she remarks nonchalantly. "So, something about me riding you…?"

This is the fucking worst. His face heats up. "I didn't mean- you don't have to."

She grins, pushing against his chest until he sinks down, climbing over him. "Mhm. How about I ride you and if that's not enough, I'll happily let you die? Deal?"

God, he loves her. "Deal."

She shrugs like she doesn't really care, transparently so, and fumbles with his pants. "I'm still insanely wet, just so you know. Turns out you didn't help with that at all."

"Sorry," he returns. God, he can't wait for her to sink down on him- this is getting out of hand. "Tried."

"You're full of shit." She yanks his underwear down. "Mhm. Sure I never gave you a blowjob?"

"Occasionally," he allows, wishing she'd just get on with it instead of teasing him. He's dying here, quite literally. "When you felt like it."

She snorts, straddling him, mere inches from sinking down on him. "So your birthday, Christmas and maybe Veterans' Day?"

He gets intense flashbacks of what she did to him Veterans' Day one or two years ago. Whipped cream. Handcuffs. Fairy lights. "We took turns on Veterans' Day."

"Sounds fair," she agrees, slipping him in casually. She's just so unbelievably wet. "Not to be a downer but- so they just lied to me when they said I had all of my memories back."

He groans. How the fuck can he explain that to her? "Not now."

She shrugs, rolling her hips. "Fine. I'm kinda tired, though, so not dragging this out. If you were hoping for that."

"I'm entirely happy with not dying," he assures her.

She snorts, leaning forward. "Yeah, that sounded very differently earlier."

She stops just an inch from his mouth, remembering. Her eyes flicker upwards to his. And- even if she knows there's something, even if they're doing this, she still doesn't  _ remember _ . He surges up anyway, burying his right hand in her hair- her toothpaste tastes differently. Jesus Christ, he still remembers all of her personal hygiene products. It's not the same but he kisses her anyway. She rolls her hips with a little wiggle at the end, just like she used to, and he moans, head dropping back. Oh wait, he's still dying. Can't feel his legs. His insides feel weird. God, he is giddy.

She kisses him again, carefully, like she needs to relearn it, rocking her hips. She's still so wet but at least it's less awkward now, so he might actually make it before he dies. He blinks. "Could you maybe take off your bra?"

She sits up, little circles with the hips which don't do that much for him but usually work pretty good for her and he's a-ok with that. "You're aware you're almost completely dressed, and I'm almost entirely naked."

The socks and the bra. He even has his fucking boots still on. Really just slipped the pants down and went for it. "This shit takes too long to take off. Pretty please?"

She grins, hair slipping over her shoulder, rocking in earnest again. "I thought you already know what they look like. So why bother?"

"Are you fucking kidding me," he asks in disbelief. "Are you  _ fucking kidding _ me?"

She reaches for the one buckle in the back. "Eh, fine, if you insist. Your dying wish."

Somehow, the fact that he's currently dying is extremely funny. She wiggles out of the whole green monstrosity. He breathes out, unabashedly staring. She smirks, squeezing the left boob. "Missed them, huh?"

The whole package. "Everything." He reaches for her waist, finding he can totally move his arms but not a single toe, but what's he gonna do with his legs right now anyway. He can live without being able to thrust into her. She leans on his chest, palms planted on his jacket, and lets him slide in and out of her, biting her lip. He squeezes her waist encouragingly. She throws her head back, rocking faster and deeper, she's not really gonna-

She utters a guttural moan, contortion going through her body, then collapses forward, breathing hard. He strokes her cheek, completely in awe. "Wow."

"Looks like it does work," she offers breathlessly. "Why are you so surprised?"

"Just amazed," he returns, awkwardly pulling his hand back. She wiggles him back in all the way, snug to his hip bones. He really wants to touch her breasts but doesn't dare. She grins, unzipping his jacket and slipping her hands under his shirt. "You look tense."

"Oh, that's probably just the dying part," he replies, hands splaying out at his side. "Can't feel my legs. Don't let that bother you."

"I feel really okay now," she suggests, rubbing her warm hands over his chest. "So it does work. Maybe you just need one more."

"Yeah, after all, you had a couple," he points out not without satisfaction. "More than a couple."

"No need to brag." She rolls her hips through smoothly. "So, did I do something special during this or just…"

"Nah, you're doing great." He lets his head loll to the side, closing his eyes like a lazy dog getting a belly rub. Which is pretty accurate, with added sexual stimulation from where he's sliding deeper and deeper into her.

She snorts, squeezing him with her vagina, which, amazing. "You're a really cheap date, you know that?"

"You wound me, sweetheart." He licks over his lips, still tasting her. "Wasn't there something about fuck or die? I seem to remember that."

"Yeah, yeah, I'll hurry up." She leans back, hands on his thighs, breasts pushed forward. But she's just not his anymore, it's not his place to grope her while she's doing him a favor by literally saving his life. A little ogling seems fine, though. She presses down, pressing him in even deeper than he thought possible. "Oh. Oh, this is nice."

He groans while she undulates her hips. "Nice. Oh, fuck off."

He can't actually feel her hands on his thighs but that seems way less important than feeling her around his cock. Her mouth falls open and sighs start dropping out. Jesus Christ, her breasts turn more alluring with every bounce. She rocks faster and they groan simultaneously, but hers continue and pick up pitch until she convulses around him, moaning deeply and stilling.

She looks different when she looks down on him again, almost like she remembers- no, wishful thinking. She drops forward- no, purposefully leans forward, first placing her hands, then her forearms to both sides of his head, breasts against his shirt, looks him so deeply in the eyes it sends a shudder down his spine, then tilts her head and kisses him, tongue probing at his lips. He lets her in immediately. Her hips start moving again and he moans into her mouth. She grins wickedly when parting from his lips, not pushing up all the way. "Was that also  _ nice _ ?" he asks weakly.

"Mhm." Her hips rock front to back, front to back, picking up speed. "Not that you contributed much. But you're dying, so I guess that counts as an excuse."

Really mean to tease him right now. He's starting to feel really warm. The tips of her breasts brush against his chest every once in a while. She puts the little wiggle back into her movements and he mewls unabashedly. She smiles, combing the hair out of his forehead. "Come on, babe. Save yourself."

He doesn't think she ever called him  _ babe _ . She doesn't move faster but continues her purposeful rhythm, riding out every delicate detail just like she used to, every tiny movement brings him closer. She plays with his hair, clearly not doing this for herself but purely for him. To save his life. He groans and tries to thrust up into her but just can't move. Panic starts to creep in. She shushes him, caressing his cheek. "I'll take care of you. Don't worry."

Her hips drop the elaborate dance and rock through faster, raw force, increased friction. He'd do it if he could, thrust into her, fuck her. But now he's all in her hands, has to rely on her to get him off and stop him from dying, and he's not sure if he can do that if she doesn't even know him, doesn't remember- but he has no choice but to trust her. Even if she doesn't remember him, she's still herself and he knows her. The whole thing about not fucking with her head was that it's more important that she's herself than how she feels about him. And she is, and that makes him unabashedly happy because they both know all too well that's not a given. Relief washes over him together with his orgasm.

A prickly feeling returns to his thighs, stronger on the left side. Wow, he didn't get that the first time. He opens his eyes. She has her hands folded on his chest, chin propped up on them, watching him. She's painstakingly beautiful. He can't help but smile, even if that's inappropriate. "Feel better?" she asks.

He nods, trying to wiggle his toes with mixed results. The funny feeling has arrived around his knees. "Did you also get the, you know…"

"The tingle?" she asks. "Yeah. You didn't, the first time round?"

He shakes his head. "Huh. So, after the first one or the twelfth one or somewhere in the middle?"

She snorts, slapping his right shoulder. "You're a real pretentious fucker. But I'm glad you're better."

"I'm glad we're both better." He tries wiggling his hips. "Mhm. So, if that's taken care of… how do we get out of here?"

It's not like he wouldn't like to stay inside her forever but that's just not in the cards. Even if she hasn't moved off him yet. "The gas takes less than four hours to completely dissipate," she explains, rocking her head side to side. "So just wait it out, I guess."

He's absolutely okay with that. "Did you call for extraction?"

"Yeah, they'll be here in a couple of hours." She sits up, regrettably, looking around. "Better get dressed before I drip all over the place."

He sighs when she lifts off him after grabbing her panties. "Oh yeah, you were insanely wet."

"Weird, wasn't it," she agrees, wiggling into the panties. "Kinda took the fun out of it, too. Was your erection harder than usual?"

She'd know that if she remembered. "Nah. Burned, though."

"Weird," she repeats, snatching the green bra. "Was gonna tell you I can't have kids so we don't need to worry about that, but you already know that, don't you."

"Yeah, I know." He shakes his head, staring at the ceiling. "Would be weird if we- nah, nevermind."

"Don't get weird now, we still have two to three hours." She gets up and gets her suit from near the wall. "But that must be really hard for you, me not remembering. How long were we-"

He sighs, closing his eyes. "Two or three years."

"Huh." He hears the zipper closing. "Sounds serious."

Now that's just cruel. "Guess so."

"I really don't remember that." She sits down somewhere, probably for her boots. "But I guess I could tell there's… something there. Recognition. Kinda thought you just had a weird crush on me."

"Pretty much what it feels like, yeah," he mutters.

"I mean, maybe you're making this shit up," she ponders, another zipper. "Reality is not what it's made out to be. And I'm always careful about memories."

Boy, does he understand that. He sits up, starting to tug his pants up. "I still have some of your clothes. The lipstick and the mug with the cat on it. Your copy of The Idiot."

"Really?" Second zipper. "I've been wondering where that went."

"Wanted to throw it all out," he mutters, nestling with the button of his pants. "But couldn't bring myself to do it."

She gets up. "Could've just given it back to me. And told me."

He chuckles drily. As if he hadn't thought about that. "What good would that have done? Other than putting you in an awkward situation and making me even more miserable?"

"Yeah, maybe," she allows, leaning against the wall, arms crossed. "I mean, it would have made this even more awkward."

Yeah, it was already awkward enough. He sighs, leaning back. "Sorry about this. All of this."

"Sorry I don't remember," she returns. "Maybe it would have been nice. I can't tell."

That's really the last thing he wants to debate. "It's not your fault. You're probably better off this way, without getting dragged into my shit all the time."

"Oh man." She crouches down next to him and he realizes he's crying. "It's alright, really."

She guides him to lay down on his side, curling in on himself. Whatever this gas did, it was really exhausting and now he's just done, emotionally and physically. She cuddles up to him, spooning him, fingers combing through his hair. It feels very familiar and he's just not going to think about that right now. "Relax," she whispers. "It's alright. We're safe here."

He doesn't care about the tears anymore. He's not crying in front of a stranger, he's crying in front of Natalia, and it doesn't matter whether they're in a relationship or not, whether she remembers or not, she's still herself. It's good to have the memories, he can attest to that, but deep down, you're still the same person without. The impact they have doesn't just disappear. And in that way, he's still there, in her mind, even if she can't access the concrete memories. "Should've told you," he whispers.

"Shsh." Her other hand comes to his shoulder, pulling herself closer. "None of that matters now."

It's good to feel her pressed against him while he dozes off.

* * *

SHIELD arrives about three hours later with a quinjet, finally letting them out of the weird bunker cell. Nobody comments on the unmistakable smell. A clean-up team combs through the facility to identify the bodies and salvage any intel they can. Then they get on the jet and take off. Natalia recounts the technical version of events to some annoying scientist or whatever while he stares out into the sky and below.

"So you … took care of the gas poisoning?" the guy asks matter-of-factly. "Together or separately?"

"Together." Her face crunches up. "Was separately even an option?"

"Yeah, sure," the guy replies easily. "Of course. There's no biological difference between self-administered and outside stimulation."

"But it didn't work!" Natalia insists. "I tried."

"Well, that depends," the guy smoothly retreats. "Did you orgasm?"

He's gonna throw this guy out of the jet if he doesn't stop asking dumb questions. Natalia nods with confusion. The guy pulls out some actual paper files, slightly burned. "The Hand did extensive studies on that, at smaller doses, of course. It doesn't work with every orgasm. The theory is that it depends on intensity."

"So I just didn't masturbate  _ hard enough _ ," Natalia states.

"Probably," the guy agrees, thumbing through the file. "They say here it works for men in about 90 percent of cases and for women in about 40. Sorry, biology is unfair."

"So the- oh fuck." Natalia starts rubbing her face, staring out of the other window.

Uncomfortable silence spreads, which the idiot promptly ignores. "Well, doesn't really matter how you got there as long as you're in the clear. It would help to read the briefings more attentively, though, I definitely put in a footnote about that."

"A  _ footnote _ ?" he hisses.

The guy shrinks uncomfortably, clearing his throat.  _ It doesn't matter how  _ his ass. The sort of lofty thinking you get from a guy who rarely leaves his lab. "Well. I guess I'll go check in with the pilot."

"Yeah, make sure he has all the footnotes," he grumbles, twisting a knee up and crossing his arms.

Natalia releases a breath as the guy reaches a healthy distance, still staring out of the window. He twists so he can look at her better. "So we didn't really-"

But she waves him off, not even looking his way, and he turns back with an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach until they land.

* * *

"I'm gonna have words with Hill," Natalia mutters as she stops some distance away from the jet where the others are unloading whatever they salvaged from the test facility. "Fucking footnotes."

"So you never read the footnotes either," he remarks with slight amusement.

"Usually, the footnotes are a bunch of bull." She pinches her nose, face twisting adorably. "Oh man."

"In all seriousness, though," he adds. "Sorry. We could have avoided all that."

"That's not on you." She sighs, shaking her hair out. "I don't know. It wasn't that bad. I mean, I even learnt something."

He snorts. "Yeah, I think that only made it worse."

"The thing is-" She drops her hand. "I still don't remember. So it doesn't mean particularly much to me right now. And- I don't wanna be mean but I don't even know you."

He gets that sinking feeling again. As if he still has anything to lose. Well, hope. "No, that's fair."

"Fucking you was fine," she admits. "Under the circumstances. But- yeah, that's it already."

"Wasn't expecting anything," he replies, squashing the not so little part of him that just can't move on. "Really."

She grins, rubbing her thumb. "Well, then we're good. That is, if you give me my book back. I don't care about the rest but if you hold my book hostage…"

"I'll send you the box," he replies, forcing himself to smile. "Don't worry."

"Man." She sighs, staring off into the distance far off the landing pad. "You're really one unlucky bastard, aren't you."

"Eh, it's fine." He shrugs. "I mean, I was pretty lucky to have you. Can't complain if it's not forever."

She grins, patting him on the shoulder. "That's the spirit, loverboy."


End file.
